


It Burns

by Vanyel



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Inspired by artwork, M/M, fallen angel AU, of course this is the first thing i write for ddadds, the au kinda speaks for itself but i can explain more if someone asks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyel/pseuds/Vanyel
Summary: Welp. @sessomesmaru looks like you’re the Thing to break my dry spell.This is inspired by a GORGEOUS piece of artwork done by sess, as well as some words from @the-female-gaymer during the stream of said artTHE ART CAN BE FOUND HERE: https://sessomesmaru.tumblr.com/post/163386695845/it-burns





	It Burns

It burns.

The whiskey burns as he knocks it down his throat, cold fire searing from the inside out. He welcomes the familiar feeling. He’s lost count of how many he’s had tonight, and he doesn’t care to try and count right now.

The ice barely has a chance to warm in the crowded bar before he slams the cup back on the table. No more. Too many people. He shoves over a handful of bills.

Neil nods, not even bothering to count. They can deal with shortage or overage the next time he comes in, which will be tomorrow.

Now, he goes to drink alone.

Again.

 

\----

 

It burns.

Lying on his bed, he stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan turn slowly. The summer heat is particularly bad tonight, and his electricity hasn’t run out from the time he last paid for it yet.

He feels the tears forging paths through the dirt surrounding his eyes. They leave thin trails of stinging skin behind, losing themselves in the stubble.

Weakly, he lifts his arm, looking at the black symbol decorating the base of his thumb. It stares back at him like an unblinking eye. Like a black sun. It weighs cold judgment down upon him.

A reminder.

 

\----

 

It burns.

He pulls back a little too slowly, glancing down. The side of his jacket had caught on the lid and slid up against the edge of the grill. A faint smell of burning hair drifts up as he surveys the marks on his arm.

One of the other dads sees the marks, wincing. “Ow, that looks like it hurts!”

He laughs dryly.

“After that tangle I got into with Johnnyboy a few years ago, this is nothing. Should have been there - smelled like a campfire.”

The dads eye him. They’re pretty sure he’s joking.

Pretty sure.

He notices Joseph’s eye on him, and tugs the sleeve back down, tipping back another sip of whiskey and starting into a story for the crowd before he can offer anything.

 

\----

 

It burns.

The antiseptic sinks into the cut, and he rubs it in a little harder. A quick wrapping with the bandage, cut with the knife and tied off. 

Then, he goes to clean his knife again. It got dirty from running into his skin.

Soon, the cut will be just another whittling accident. Another scar.

No one will ask questions.

 

\----

 

It burns.

Curled into a ball in the front seat of his truck, trying to pull his jacket over his head. By now he should be used to the headache, the glare. The price of whiskey’s bittersweet release.

But today the sun is vicious. It turns on him harder. And his calendar reminds him.

There is a moment, and then he accepts his fate. Unlocks the door, lets the jacket fall back onto the seat, shucks his shirt with it, and steps out of the truck.

He tilts his head up to the sky, and extends his wings, letting the blackened edges of his feathers flutter in the faint breeze gracing the hilltop. They twitch awkwardly from cramping and disuse. 

He can feel his hand grow warm, the symbol pulsing with light. His eyes open, looking towards the sky. Letting the sun gaze into him.

The eyes are on him for a moment.

And then they pass, and he feels as though a door has been slammed in his face.   
Three years is not enough. He may never be enough to return.   
The wings fold back up, the sun dims, the symbol turns cold and black once again.

And so, too, does his world.

 

\----

 

It burns.

The sound of his own laughter rings hollow to him. Even Mary looks at him with a skeptical eye.

Or, perhaps, just a very drunk one. Who knows what she had before he walked in.

“If there’s some shit eating you, lay it out,” she snorts, knocking back a shot. “I could use a good laugh.”

He closes his eyes and drinks to cover the haze in his mind a moment.

“Nothing.” A murmur, just enough growl to sound like him. “Just slept like shit.”

“More than usual, you mean.”

“I know what I said.”

 

\----

 

It burns.

He leans against the wall behind the theater, rough wall digging into him even through the jacket. A hand covers his mouth, letting the sound of rain drown out the little of the world that bothers with this hour.

The other clutches at his shirt, fingernails digging into his skin through the worn fabric. It’s been weeks since he last broke them on purpose.

Popcorn-ass drivel shouldn’t be able to do this. There weren’t supposed to be good actors, good acting, good stories anymore.

He tilts back his head, letting the water stream onto his closed eyes, run down his cheeks.

Too close to home.

 

\----

 

It burns.

The layers of dirt fight every step of the way, each inch its own battle. The soap almost gives up halfway through.  It sloughs into his eyes, but he doesn’t care.

He’s going to be  _ better _ today if it kills him.

He digs through the piles, sniffing lightly. There has to be something here that resembles clean.

The razor is rusted. He tosses it aside, going for his knife instead. A nick or two won’t kill him.

Finally, he admires himself in the mirror, looking a little less haunted.

He’s going to enjoy something for once.

The Game is on tonight. Maybe that.

 

\----

 

It burns.

The feeling of the body beside him is too warm. He kicks off the sheets, letting it crumple over them as he stands. Stretches. Feels sore in a way that aches deeper than the flesh.

He thought it would help.

He thought repeating his sin would help him understand. Remind him why he did it in the first place.

A glance over at the other man, still curled on the pillow, fast asleep. Looking far too relaxed for his tastes, considering.

His eyes drift to the corner, to a picture frame face down. Dust covers the back like a blanket. 

He rubs the symbol, as if to hide from its unending stare.

It didn’t help.

All it did was make him feel more lost.

 

\----

 

It burns.

The hood of the truck is still warm when he sits on it, parked at the overlook. There are grooves in the way the grass grows that match his tread. His shirt already lies discarded on the ground.

He sips his whiskey. He knows sunrise is several hours from now.

He can wait.

  
  
  


It’s the footsteps that break him from his reverie - far too close, far too suddenly. He sets the bottle down, turning to see-

“...you never come this far out of the city.”

A soft chuckle, as sharp to him as any knife. “Well, you rarely come out of your house anymore,” Joseph says, smile almost bright enough in the faded starlight to make him wince. “Thought it was worth the curiosity of seeing that truck leave your driveway.”

Robert turns away again, pouring another glass of whiskey.

“So. You’ve seen I’m up here. We done?”

He can feel the other man pout behind him. More footsteps, coming up against the side mirror.

They don’t say anything for two hours.

 

Finally, to even his own surprise, it’s Robert that breaks the silence.

“You shouldn’t be here. Not tonight.” He grabs the bottle. He knows it’s empty, but he has to try anyways. “You should be with Mary and the kids.”

Joseph snorts. “The kids are asleep. And you’d know better than I would where Mary is tonight.” Even the seemingly bitter words don’t mar his tone. It’s as sweet and even as ever.

Robert knocks back the empty glass. “You never changed. Four years, and you sound like we’re still up there.” He gestures vaguely at the stars peeking over the treeline. 

“Up there isn’t the only place where you can be happy, Robert.” He steps past the mirror, forcing himself fully into Robert’s peripheral. “I saw you up here last year, and the year before. We both know the answer is never going to change.”

 

Neither of them hear the bottle break, hurled too far into the woods.

“Of COURSE you can say that! You’ve got it all!” He whirls on Joseph, fire burning in his eyes as he balls his fists. “Even after they cast us out, you landed on your feet, didn’t you? They put your mark in a place you have to look for to even notice, while mine stares me in the face every time I raise a glass to try and forget for a moment. And don’t think I don’t hear what they call you down there - the Angel of Maple Bay, huh? Good luck follows you? Still the favorite even with my TAINT keeping you here - and you’re the one with a chance to GO back!”

Robert stabs a finger at him, and it’s enough to make Joseph actually step back with the force of the motion.

“The last time I tried to set foot in your damn church, I burned my hand on the doorknob - and yet you practically live there half the time, and I don’t see as much as a SUNBURN on you. If that doesn’t tell you which one of us will go back-”

“I don’t want to go back.”

It’s soft, yet stops him in his tracks like a wall. Robert falters, anger tangled into confusion knots too tight to keeping running.

“What?”

Joseph looks at him. He reaches up, unties the cardigan, and lets it fall to the grass. The shirt follows in a pile. A small thump as the cross joins them both.

His hand lifts to his shoulder, skirts the edge of his symbol, tracing over the lines branching out like sunrays. Slowly, his eyes raise back up to meet Robert’s.

“I don’t want to go back up there, Robert. That would mean regretting what happened. And I don’t.” The sincerity is too clear for even the most insidious doubt still coursing through him. “The only thing I regret is losing you on the way down.”

Robert stares at him, sees the faint tips of wings beginning to unfurl. His own, cramped,  come out nevertheless in response, seeming ragged and ashen next to Joseph’s midnight blue.

“But...you could...the church...the holy, it…”

Words came and faded before they could be spoken.

“It doesn’t reject me because it doesn’t see me as fallen.” Joseph steps forward, past the hood of the car, giving his wings room to stretch. “It sees me as human. The man that enters that church each Sunday is just that - a man, and nothing more.”

One wingtip curls in, almost offended, and the corner of his mouth curls up.

“Well. Maybe a little more. But not what I was up there, and not what I was when I hit the ground. I don’t even have these except for tonight.” His eyes are warm in the moonlight. “Or when I’m near you.”

 

It’s too much. The dam breaks, and all of the anger begins to flood out of Robert in heaving sobs. He stumbles forward one step, two, then collapses into Joseph’s waiting arms.

All this time. All this time, alone. Forsaken and the only one.

Watching what he’d gained and lost settle into a life he couldn’t even try to live.

The arms around him are warm, and he nearly pulls away, but their grip is too strong for him right now even gentle as they are. He places his hand on Joseph’s wrist.

“I lost everything,” he gasps. The weight settles in his eyes, pushing out. “I lost everything, and I lost you, and by the time I found you again you were already okay without me. 

He feels a hand slide up the back of his neck, the other moving to his cheek. They are warm and broad and ache. He tightens his grip.

“I knew…” Robert pauses, choking on a sob. “I thought I knew they’d take you back. I thought they were waiting for us both, that I was keeping you here because I hadn’t figured it out like you did and I just wanted to be with you again I just wanted to have what we had…”

 

They both ignore the taste of salt. Joseph still tastes like sunset.

“We can have it again,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to breathe. His thumb strokes over Robert’s cheek as the first rays of sunlight crest the trees. “We can have it all again, right here.”

The symbols glow, Robert’s eyes opening against the sharp pain. He stares at Joseph’s shoulder for a moment, seeing how the light seeps from the circle outwards. His hand grows warm.   
Something inside of him long forgotten awakes, pushing him further into Joseph’s arms. Their wings cast long shadows, shifting in the faint fog, and he feels his heart grow warm for the first time in four years.

 

It burns.

And he embraces it.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. @sessomesmaru looks like you’re the Thing to break my dry spell.  
> This is inspired by a GORGEOUS piece of artwork done by sess, as well as some words from @the-female-gaymer during the stream of said art 
> 
> THE ART CAN BE FOUND HERE: https://sessomesmaru.tumblr.com/post/163386695845/it-burns


End file.
